


Personal Engagements

by mlyn



Category: Deadwood
Genre: 19th Century, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlyn/pseuds/mlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of Deadwood, three lives briefly touch each other and reveal more than might meet the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Engagements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittydesade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittydesade/gifts).



Amos Cochran, general practitioner of medicine for the mining camp of Deadwood, picked his way through the muck and mire of the main thoroughfare and ducked into the newly opened Bella Union. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the light and saw that it was mostly empty, the hour being too early for the usual drunks to be back at their habits. The bartender eyed him and then went back to wiping his glasses. A portly cardsharp gave him a slightly longer glance, but then returned to shuffling his cards and doing tricks. The few patrons ignored him outright.

In the upper level, he spied one well-dressed woman leaving one room and entering another. He recognized her as having been on the arm of the proprietor when they'd first arrived in the camp; likely the head madam.

He headed for the stairwell, eyes on the door through which she'd disappeared, but a hulking shadow stepped into his path. He refocused on a very tall man with silver hair and a dark mustache: the proprietor.

"Something I can get for you, son?"

Cochran disliked being called by that term, but he ignored it and put on a pleasant expression. "I beg your pardon. I wish to speak to you and your madam. I'm Doctor Cochran." He held out a hand.

The man took it, his hand strong yet soft, manicured. "Cy Tolliver. Leon," he called, and Cochran sensed movement behind him. "Ask Joanie to join us for a cup of coffee." Tolliver refocused intently on Cochran, still holding his hand. "You do drink coffee, don't you?"

"As often as I can." Cochran tugged back his hand and immediately realized it would seem like something of a retreat. Tolliver smiled unctuously and released him.

The madam, Joanie Stubbs, came down from the upper floor wearing a black velvet beaded gown, her blond hair glowing like polished gold. But while her appearance was that of a beautiful lady, her manner was that of a shrewd businessman. Cy and Joanie took turns speaking and made themselves clear in what business they were interested in doing with Cochran, and how much they would pay. He left the meeting wondering if he'd been fleeced, because the sensation of being held in perfect control was one he had not experienced since living back East, frequently under the thumbs of the elite.

* * *

  
Two days later he brought his kit back to the Bella Union for his first visit in a professional capacity. He need not have brought more than his spectacles for close examinations, as the girls were all in healthy condition with no complaints. Joanie ran a tight ship.

The girls left the room as he straightened his bag, while Joanie remained behind. When he lifted his head, he saw her closing the door. He stiffened.

"Might I have a private examination, Doctor? While you're here."

"Of course." He gestured at a bed, wondering why she'd waited for privacy. Surely she was used to the complete lack of it, in the business of running whores.

She sat, but arranged her skirts tidily rather than undressing. Cochran folded his hands over his case and waited.

"I thought—" Joanie halted immediately, and smiled without humor. Her lips quivered while she cleared her throat. "Perhaps you could recommend something for a melancholy spirit."

Cochran sat carefully on a tiny stool and hugged his bag on his lap. "Unfortunately my powers extend only to the flesh." He paused, and when she bowed her head, added, "But I have seen that talking often helps."

She lifted her gaze and let it travel around the room, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Oh, but there's—it's not one thing, you see."

He averted his gaze and nodded. He felt sick with helplessness at being unable to cure what ailed her.

She cleared her throat again and rose, smoothing her skirts. "Thank you, Doctor."

But he didn't take her cue, and instead opened his case and slowly pulled out a bottle of laudanum, cursing himself with every moment. Her eyes fixed on it, and he felt a sad triumph at guessing correctly.

But her face twisted with disgust. "I beg your pardon," she hissed. Cochran dropped the bottle back into its place and snapped his case shut.

"I'm sorry ma'am—"

"You think that'd fix things? Me to be all doped up while my girls have to take care of themselves? Or maybe you were hoping we'd all share, get in the same fucking wretched state, and you'd string us along pushing us your 'medicine.'" She went to the door and flung it open, then waited like a black angel standing sentry next to Hell. "I only want what's best for my girls, and that ain't it."

"I understand. A mistake on my part, owing to our new acquaintanceship and unfamiliarity. It won't happen again." Cochran clutched his bag and rose, going to the door. When he drew level with her, he paused.

"I don't mean to guide you down that path. I know enough women who use it as their crutch, and—aw, hell. You gotta find your happiness somehow in this life. If I can enable that even with these cruel means, then I try for it. You're a stronger woman than most if you resist the easy way."

All traces of tears were gone now. Joanie's face was hard, like a battle mask had slipped into place. Her voice matched her steely demeanor. "I know that already. Seen plenty of proof."

Cochran didn't know what to say. He nodded and left, and heard the door slam firmly behind him.

* * *

  
Joanie clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palm as she paced the floor. The room wasn't large, and her path took her by the windows every few seconds. She had nearly walked off her mad when she noticed a familiar skulking stride out on the street below, and paused.

Cochran scurried into the Gem, still clutching his case. She thought of Swearengen and his girls, and shuddered. Poor wretches were probably filthy and struck with half a dozen diseases, a thousand times worse than the state their master had been in when he'd called on Cy. Swearengen's suit had been newly cleaned, but the man hadn't. Despite his shaved face she'd seen the line of dirt on the back of his neck. He couldn't take care of girls any better than a doped up madam could.

Her mama had often chastised her for following her impulses too quickly, taking a wild hair and running off somewhere. But her mama had died many years before, and voice was faint now in her mind as she spun and went to the door.

A few men noticed her as she slipped out the back of the Bella Union and began picking her way through the muck, holding her skirts several inches high. She paid them no mind; men always stared. Most didn't notice her at all, too concentrated on their work or finding some vice to enjoy. She dashed down the street and along the side of the block toward the back alley behind the Gem, knowing that the girls would be easier to access back here. There was no guard to stop her as she chose the building, opened the back door, and found a warren of tiny rooms with signs saying "girl in" or "girl out" on each door.

Tiptoeing to keep her bootheels from making noise, she went to each door until she got to the last, a larger room judging by the length of the wall. Here she heard the chatter of females and Cochran's voice, irritated and exasperated, a much different mood than she'd seen at the Bella Union. She imagined he had his work cut out for him with the Gem's whores.

Her wild impulse vanished suddenly, and she was left embarrassed at her position. Now what? Barge in and steal Cochran's laudanum? Wait until the girls finish and talk to them privately? She was in a ridiculous state.

"You ain't waiting for a fuck or a suck, are ya?"

Joanie's heart flipped as she whirled. The flat voice belonged to a woman with lank blonde hair and a swollen, bruised face. She held a hand-made cigarette between lazy fingers, one arm crossed under her breasts and holding the other elbow. Her clothes were filthy scraps that barely covered her skinny body—no doubt left as scraps to entice the wretches that would find interest in her.

"I'm sorry," Joanie blurted, trying to think of an excuse for herself. "I just met with the Doctor, and he forgot something—"

"You don't have it with you." The woman eyed her empty hands and took a draw off her cigarette.

"Forgot to answer something," Joanie amended pitifully.

The woman stared at her with a disinterested gaze. "Mmm hmm. Well." She took another draw and dropped the cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with a booted toe. "He'll be finished in about an hour. You can wait outside. Maybe back at your fancy saloon with your craps and your dresses and your hair pins."

Ridiculously, Joanie felt suddenly overdressed. She kept herself from touching her hair reflexively, an act that required all of her will. Backing away from the door, she nodded mutely.

The woman reached for the door handle, but Joanie felt compelled to say some sort of goodbye or parting comment. "I'm Joanie," she murmured reflexively. "Joanie Stubbs."

The woman opened the door and hesitated. "All right," she said, and went into the room.

Before the door closed again, Joanie saw Cochran's face shift with an expression of surprise.

* * *

  
Trixie shut the door and leaned back against it. Cochran looked at her. "What did she want?"

"Beats the hell out of me." She folded her arms and watched the girl that Doc was treating point out the rash around her cunt. Sighing, she thought about telling Al that Amelia would not be working for a week—doctor's orders.

She was lucky to have Cochran to fall back on, to use as an excuse for why a girl would be out. Al wouldn't believe her, otherwise. He'd think she was being soft and demand that Amelia work anyway, even though any half-blind fool could see that the girl was in discomfort. But that was Al, ruthlessly oriented toward making money, to a fault.

They were all the same, the big money-makers who had large stables of girls. Tom Nuttall was too sweet to run women, and even if he'd tried he would have soon failed. Trixie hadn't met that silver-haired bastard who owned the Bella Union, but she recognized a caged bird when she saw one, even if it did have pretty feathers.

All the dresses and hairstyles in the world didn't amount to much, in her mind. You still had to take 'em off for business. And the men would paw at a pretty hairdo and get it all mussed and tangled, and anyway you'd just have to redo it the next morning. She fingered her sweep of blond hair. She had natural beauty in the color, and that was a fact that many men had commented on. Such a pretty color. Sometimes in the early hours, after they'd finished fucking, Al would run his hand over it until he fell asleep.

The way the girl—Joanie—had stuck to that man's side, she was too scared to travel far. Trixie had been a bit surprised to see her out in the muck all by herself, at that. She sighed. Christ, it pissed her off, seeing a woman with a lot of riches like that staying under her master's thumb without a peep of protest. Why didn't she take her dresses and jewels and jump a train to some new town? Instead she'd followed him here, to this fucking shithole in the asscrack of Indian country. She had no one but herself to blame for her lot now.

The doc finished up and the girls filed out, leaving Trixie standing against the wall, chewing on her thumbnail. Cochran put his ointments back in the bag, taking his sweet time about it.

"You talk to that Bella Union woman?" Trixie asked finally.

Cochran looked like he'd expected the question. "I did. Why was she here?"

"Beats the hell out of me!" Trixie threw up her hands and pushed away from the wall with her heel. "Probably fuckin' spying on Al for her boss. I see her in here again, I'm going to twist her nose off her face while I haul her out the door."

Cochran looked at her and pressed his lips together. "Whatever you see fit, I suppose."

"What the hell does that mean?" Trixie crossed her arms and approached him, getting close enough to make him uncomfortable. "You mocking me?"

Cochran snapped his case shut and picked it up. "You don't know the color of a person's life just by looking at them. You spread so much misery that some of it comes back to you. All I'm saying is, maybe some sympathy for a fellow human being would hearten you." He surprised her by putting his hand on her arm, gently guiding her out of his path. "What have you to lose by trying?"

Trixie followed him out to the main room and watched him go out the front. Dan approached her spot by the bar and set down a bottle and glass.

"How are the girls?"

Trixie shot him a look, then poured herself a drink and swallowed it. "Mysterious."

**Author's Note:**

> I took this request as a pinch hit because I couldn't let a Deadwood request featuring Joanie Stubbs go by. Joanie's tragic depression is buoyed by the lovely arc of her romance with Jane, and I relished the opportunity to explore her character a little.


End file.
